The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7)

by Linda Kage

  “That…” Asher announced, leaning up on tiptoes so he could reach for the opening clasp of the closest cage. “Is Mozart.”

  A flash of brown fur darted past him as soon as the door was open, and the animal inside leapt out, landing about ten feet away on the back of Asher’s couch before bounding along the length and leaping to the floor so it could disappear under the bed.

  I pointed toward the bed, squinting because I couldn’t be absolutely certain I’d just seen what I’d really just seen. “That was a squirrel.”

  Asher grinned with pride. “I know, right? Pretty cool, huh? I went to all the pet shops in town, looking for one until I came across him. I guess he was a rescue case they found with a broken leg in the park one day. After fixing him up, it didn’t seem safe to let him back out into the wild, even though he seems to have healed okay. He’d been returned three times by customers before I came along, because he scratched the hell out of all the other owners.” Asher shrugged as if he couldn’t figure out why a squirrel would scratch anyone. “But I’ve learned that if you just don’t try to touch him and give him his space, he’s fine.”

  I shook my head, trying to get over the fact that Asher Hart had a pet squirrel. But then I flared out a hand and said, “I mean, yeah…why would anyone buy a pet, thinking they could actually pet it.”

  “Shut up, smartass.” Asher grinned and shook his head as he moved to the kitchen to open some cabinets and pull out a handful of peanuts. Immediately, Mozart’s head appeared from under the bed, his nose twitching as he watched Asher toss the nuts into various parts of the room. “I like him because he’s cool as hell to watch. Squirrels are geniuses. Just watch.”

  Darting out from his hidey-hole, Mozart jumped and shimmied his way into retrieving every single peanut, all the while making it impossible for any humans around to get close to him.

  “Pretty cool,” I had to admit, setting my hands on my hips as I watched Mozart disappear back under Asher’s bed, a really comfy-looking queen-size with the blankets rumpled out of place as if he’d just crawled from those warm white sheets.

  Damn, I shouldn’t look at his bed. “Personally, I would’ve gone with a dog or a cat,” I said, forcing myself to stop thinking naughty thoughts about what I’d love to do on that bed with its owner. We could totally shock Mozart into having a heart attack with all the thoughts that ran through my head. “You know, something I can actually touch, but yeah, okay.”

  Asher shook his head. “Just because I can’t touch him doesn’t mean he still can’t be taken care of and loved,” he argued. “I swear, those are the souls who need a little TLC the most.”

  I blinked at him, realizing he was talking about himself. Maybe. It fit, though. After he admitted to me in Chicago that he would like to be in a relationship with someone, it struck me that he had no one to touch…and that seemed to be what he wanted most.

  I wasn’t lucky enough to ever be able to touch him—really touch him—but I decided right then and there, I would give him a little TLC, because I could still be his friend.

  “Why the name Mozart?” I asked.

  “Because the original Mozart was a genius too. You know, he was only fourteen when he wrote his first opera. A freaking opera.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Why would you even know something like that?”

  He shrugged. “I cruise the web a lot, looking at music sites. And I was reading an article about him one night when I clicked on his music. Put the squirrel right to sleep…so, I named him Mozart.”

  I eyed the tree rat warily as he peeked out from under the bed to watch us as if he knew he was the topic of discussion. His beady brown eyes stared back with a wise yet nervous certainty.

  “Okay, I can see how he might grow on you.” Then I glanced at Asher, frowning. “You said he, right? It’s a boy squirrel?”

  Asher wrinkled his brow before admitting, “Oh, hell, I guess I really don’t know. He’s never let me get close enough to actually look.”

  “So, he could be a she?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m just going to go with he. It…fits.”

  I shook a finger at him. “You should never assume shit like that, you know.” I was living proof.

  Asher laughed and waved a hand at me. “Whatever, dork. As you can see, my dad isn’t hiding out with a machete, or gun, or chainsaw. I’m perfectly safe down here with my wild pet squirrel. So…”

  I knew that was my cue to leave. But I felt bad about abandoning him, even though it was late and he probably wanted to go to bed…on that snuggly-looking mattress. I just kept replaying his words in my head, feeling as if it was a call from a lonely guy. So when I glanced down and saw the Play Station game sitting on his coffee table, I gasped and clutched my chest. “You have the new Black Ops 3 edition. Holy…shit. That’s so sweet. I only have the original and zombie versions.”

  Asher’s eyebrows arched with interest. “You play Call of Duty?”

  I sent him a look to let him know he was insane for even having to ask. “Oh, hell yes. My cousin Big T—Tomás—he has officially refused to play against me. Little crybaby whiny boy. I’ve kicked his ass one too many times, I guess.”

  “Oh, so you think you’re good at it, huh?”

  “Think?” I snorted and sent him a get-real glance. “Honey, you don’t know what a real whoopin’ is until you’re beaten at Call of Duty…by me.”

  As soon as I said the words, I remembered that he did know what it felt like to be whipped…by both his parents. Gulping, I glanced at him to make sure I hadn’t hit a sore point, but he only grinned. “Challenge accepted, asshole. You’re on.”

  So we gamed for the rest of the night and into the early morning. He wasn’t bad, and since I’d never played this version before, I had some learning to catch up on. But as soon as I got with the program, I smoked his ass. And every time, he would demand a replay.

  I have no idea how long we played. After a while, he fetched us snacks and drinks. But I had so much fun, just hanging out with him, I forgot to check the time. After a while, I passed out exhausted on his couch.

  I was crunching into an apple for breakfast—one I’d bought for Mozart—when the call came through the next morning. I knew I should stop eating all my pet’s fruit. Everything I’d read said squirrels needed a balanced diet of fruits and vegetables, along with plants and nuts. But nuts seemed to be his favorite, so I overindulged him in that area. Besides, some of the fruit was beginning to go bad, so…I figured I might as well eat it before it was too late.

  I’d never really been a fruit eater before. It was kind of growing on me, though. I might actually get into some healthy foods.

  “Hello?” I answered the unknown number around a mouthful.

  On the couch, Remy stirred and sat up, his fake hair sticking up everywhere as he peered at me from over the back of my couch with bloodshot eyes.

  I waved at him, only to pop to my feet and turn my back to him after the man on the other end of the line introduced himself. Excitement lit through me.

  “Are you serious?” I blurted out without meaning to.

  The man chuckled before letting me know just how serious he was. After that, we hashed out a few details before I hung up and swung around to share the news with Sticks.

  “What?” he asked immediately, hopping up from the couch with a look of eagerness. “We got another gig, didn’t we?”

  I nodded. “Here in town at the Grenada. Next Saturday. Holy shit.” That was the first place I’d tried to get Non-Castrato a gig over a year ago when we’d just started. Now, the guy was calling me and begging for us. Oh, this was sweet justice.

  “Hot damn,” Sticks cried, doing a little dance that made me laugh.

  “And so it begins,” I said dramatically, wondering how many spots we’d score after this. Things were definitely looking good for the band.

  I offered him a fist bump and he blew it up before sighing as if refreshed. “This is so cool. It’s like…a dream come true fo
r me. I still can’t believe you guys let me in the group sometimes. It’s all just…surreal. And amazing.”

  I waved his praise away. “Honestly, you’ve got pure talent. I’m sure you could’ve gotten into whatever band you wanted.”

  He snorted. “Think again. This has been a yearning of mine for years. I’ve tried for more places than you can imagine.”

  I frowned. “Then why haven’t you…?” My eyebrows rose. “Are you saying you’ve been turned away because you’re gay?” What idiots all the other bands had been.

  An uneasy look crossed his face. Then he bowed his head and scratched the back of his neck before saying, “More or less, yes…it’s because I prefer guys.” He looked up, and deep appreciation filled his gaze. “Really, Asher, you have no idea what a gift you’ve given me, not only for the chance to be in Non-Castrato, but…just by accepting me.”

  “Hey,” I said softly, wanting to clasp his shoulder or, I don’t know, somehow convince him he was very important to me. “Screw all those other people who refused to look past the surface and see what a truly awesome person you are. Actually, you know what, I’m glad they were all idiots, because their loss was our gain. Playing in the band with you and getting to know you has been…it’s been nice.”

  Remy’s eyes glazed as if he were going to cry.

  Shit, I hoped he didn’t cry. I got uncomfortable enough around girls who cried…no way did I know how to handle a weeping dude.

  But all he choked out was, “Thank you,” before he cleared his throat and glanced around my apartment. “But damn, I can’t believe I fell asleep on your couch. What time is it, anyway?”

  “It’s a quarter after ten.”

  His eyes bugged. “Shit! I’m late for work. Ah…I gotta go.” He started to back away, then paused as if he needed my permission or something.

  I laughed and waved him away. “Go, man. And sorry about that. I would’ve woken you sooner if I’d known. I should’ve asked.”

  “No biggie.” Scooping up his shoes he’d kicked off at some point in our Call of Duty wars, he raced toward the stairwell, waving his fingers at Mozart once again cooped up in his cage as he went.

  “See you at practice,” I called after him, grinning over his flurried departure.

  “Yeah, see you,” his voice echoed back down the stairs.

  Once the door slammed after him, my smile died. The room suddenly felt a lot…emptier. Not even my squirrel rattling around in his cage could fill the void.

  Blowing out a breath, I decided I had other things to worry about. A fuel line to replace, a new gig to plan for, music for our newest song to compose.

  Busy, busy, busy. I had no time to feel alone.

  “Dude,” Remy hissed in my ear, clutching my arm hard. “You didn’t say anything about Fish ’N’ Dicks being here tonight.”

  We’d just arrived at the Grenada where the band Sticks had named was on stage, already performing.

  “Yeah, I did. I said two other groups would be playing tonight before us,” I called over the blaring sound.

  “But you didn’t specify that Fish ’N’ Dicks’s would be one of them.”

  I frowned at him, wondering why he sounded so pissed. Then I shrugged. “I don’t see the big deal. Their song ‘Tomorrow’s Promise’ is kickass.”

  That comment seemed to catch my drummer off guard before he said, “Really?” as if I’d just complimented his outfit. Then he suddenly straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Their lead singer’s an asshole.”

  I only laughed. “If assholes bugged me, I never would’ve made a band with Gally in it.”

  “Huh?” Gally glanced over, only hearing his name.

  Remy glanced at the bass guitarist and promptly turned back to me. “Good point.” And he shut up about it from that point on…until we actually ran into the other band backstage as they were coming off and we were preparing to go on after the second group sang.

  Yeah, I said that right. We were the grand finale performance. Boo-yah.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Non-Castrato,” the lead singer said as he spotted the four of us together. I think his name was something Fisher, but at the moment, his given name escaped me. “It’s Hart, right?”

  When I nodded, not letting him know I didn’t remember his name in return, I simply said, “Hey, man. What’s up?”

  He slid his gaze to Remy, who I felt tense beside me. “Not much. Heard you guys had to get a new drummer. The last one did…what again? Went to jail for burning his entire family in a house fire, was it?”

  “He was asking where you lived, too,” Remy spat back.

  Gally started hooting at his burn, which got Holden to chuckling too.

  I sent Remy a behave glare, but he was ignoring me, narrowing his eyes on the guy with the fish tattoo taking up half his face.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Fish Boy demanded, scowling at my drummer.

  And my drummer scowled right back. “None of your fucking business.”

  The two stepped toward each other as if to start brawling then and there, so I put up my hand between them. “Hey, hey, hey. We’re here to play tonight, fellas. Not brawl.”

  Remy immediately blew out a breath and retreated, but the other guy kept glaring.

  “Your drummer has a serious attitude problem.”

  “He’s fine,” I assured him, patting his chest to send him on his way. “Good job tonight.”

  Finally pacified, Fish-face sniffed at us and whirled away to storm off.

  “What the hell?” I hissed to Remy as soon as he was gone. It was usually Gally I had to worry about acting up and getting into a fight.

  He shrugged and glanced away. “I just hate that bastard,” he mumbled.

  I lifted my eyebrows. “And you actually know him, because he didn’t seem to know you.”

  Remy glanced at me. “I…I know a girl who dated him…and royally got screwed over by him. To say the least, I’m not a fan.”

  “Okay, fine,” I relented. “Just warn me next time you’re going to get mouthy with an opposing band so I’ll be prepared.”

  “Well, if I’d known he was going to be here—”

  “Fine. Fine.” I lifted my hands. “And I’ll warn you if we ever play in the same venue with them again.”

  “Thank you.” He sent me one last pouty glance and that was that.

  We had our turn on stage, played our hearts out, and left the crowd screaming and begging for more. As Gally, Heath and Remy started for the back room that had been assigned to just us for the evening, the owner of the club stopped me with a cash payment.

  I grinned at the money and told him we’d love to come back again when he invited us. I tried not to worry about my Forbidden friends. All the guys had bitched and moaned when they’d learned I wouldn’t be there again for another karaoke night. They hated having to deal with all the technical issues that I usually took care of.

  Pick had told them all to shut up because my new gigs were big opportunities for me, but I worried about him too. He’d helped me get started, given me more opportunities than anyone, and here I felt as if I was abandoning him.

  I knew he wouldn’t want me to be that way, though. It was strange having a family member who only wanted what was best for me. Made me wish I could do more for him.

  Shaking those thoughts away, I hurried back to the guys, who looked as if they were already plastered as they passed around a complimentary bottle of Grey Goose that had been left in our room.

  “And there’s the man of the hour,” Remy called, lifting the bottle in cheers. “Everyone give it up for Asher Hart.” He made the sound of a roaring crowd before taking a big slug.

  “Watch it, you greedy bastard,” Gally complained, stealing the vodka mid-gulp so that Remy ended up spilling some down his chin.

  “Fucker,” he told Gally as he wiped the back of his hand over the leak. Then he grinned glassy-eyed at me. “What’s up, boss?”

  No idea why he called m
e boss, but I lifted the cash we’d made and fanned my face with it. “It’s payday,” I announced.

  “Damn straight,” Gally hooted, fisting his hand into the air. “Gimme my money!”

  Since the only open spot to sit was an end seat on the couch next to Remy, where he’d sprawled out, practically taking up the whole damn thing, I nudged his legs aside with my knee and sat next to him.

  He grinned at me and stuck a Twizzler between his teeth.

  Yanking the dangling part of the Twizzler stick free, I took a big bite from the opposite end and began to chew. “The manager invited us back next month if we’re interested. I said we were.”

  “Hell yes, we are,” Gally called while Holden nodded.

  Remy was too busy scowling at the string of candy I’d stolen from him. Jabbing out his hand to steal it back, he growled when I was faster, taking it from my own mouth and holding it tauntingly away from him. Then I really did it; I licked the entire length, spreading my germs so he couldn’t take it back without being gross.

  “Ha,” I crowed triumphantly. “I licked it, so it’s mine.” That was payback for his kicking my ass at Call of Duty.

  He scowled. “Really? How mature is that?” Then, he wiggled his eyebrows. “Now, I just want it back more.”

  While I sputtered out a laugh and nearly choked on my Twizzler, Gally hissed, “Sick, man. That’s disgusting. No flirting allowed here, queer.”

  “Whatever,” Remy muttered, leaning forward to find the bag for a new Twizzler stick. “You’re just jealous because I didn’t hit on you.”

  “Wow,” Gally said as he yanked his share of cash out of my hand. “That was totally not the case. Seriously, though, you two lovebirds sure got chummy since rooming together in Chicago.”

  “Yeah.” Letting out a big, dreamy sigh, Remy pressed a hand to his chest and fluttered his lashes my way. “We bonded. It was beautiful.”

  “Jesus, Sticks.” I scowled at him. “Just how drunk are you?”

  He gave a husky laugh and blew me a kiss. “I’m three sheets to the wind, baby.”

  “Yeah, I can tell.” I waved at Heath, motioning him to toss the bottle of vodka that was now in his possession my way. “Looks like I’m going to have to guzzle to catch up.”